


Drunken Confessions and Meaningless Sex

by KahtyaSofia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Backstory, Blow Job, Multi, One Shot, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/KahtyaSofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad's journey, with Ray's help, from the shame and anger of being dumped to grudging acceptance. And Brad gets laid along the way. And so does Ray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Confessions and Meaningless Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Journal comments sections have given me more fodder for fic, no matter the fandom. This came from a discussion about why Brad would let Ray just share personal details of his life without protest. The Brad/Ray scene is for romanticalgirl who is a great ambassador for the fandom and writes fantastic fic! I ship the Brad/Nate OTP but this is pre-Nate so I allowed myself the deviation!

"My fuckin' wife put me on an allowance, Dog," Poke said on a laugh. "I can't save a fuckin' dime. If I got it, I spend it. I'm always broke."

"I know when my wife wants to buy somethin'," Jacks growled. "It's the only time I get my dick sucked."

Brad sat amidst the sound of raucous laughter, twirling his beer bottle on the tabletop, and wished he were anywhere but here. He regretted letting Ray drag him out to this whiskey-tango dive bar. The Marines sitting with them at the table were doing nothing but bitching and moaning about their wives and girlfriends. Brad lifted his beer bottle to his lips and took a long pull. He'd lost count of how many he'd had on top of all the shots.

"My girlfriend lets me eat her pussy anytime I want," Ray declared to varying levels of disbelief from his fellow Marines.

"Person, the only way you get to eat pussy is to pay your mama for the privilege," Chaffin shouted across the table, and received rough back-slaps as a reward.

Brad drained the last of his beer and signaled the passing waitress for another. She nodded and gave him the same bright smile that he pretended not to notice. His dick took note of how pretty she was but the fact that Marines frequented this bar meant she'd probably banged her way through half of Pendleton, looking to land a man in dress blues.

Espera launched into a rant, mimicking his wife's higher-pitched voice. "Tony, when you gonna clear out the garage? Tony, when you gonna fix that leaky faucet? Tony, pick up your shoes! So I tell her, Jeez, bitch, you sound like my fucking mother."

"My wife bitches at me all the time to pick up my own clothes and clean up after myself." Jacks was griping again. "I tell her, 'bitch, I'm a Marine. I'm a trained killer. I don't wash socks'."

"I bet she don't fuck you for a week after that," Espera laughed at Jacks.

"Try a month," Jacks shouted, clinking the neck of his beer against Poke's in celebration.

A dark, hot anger rolled up through Brad's gut. The waitress brought his fresh beer and he still ignored her flirtation even as he could no longer ignore the pathetic griping of the Marines around him.

"You're not warriors." Brad didn't try to keep the disdain from his voice. "You're all a bunch of hen-pecked, pussy-whipped, bullshit-spewing pansy-asses."

"Fuck, dog," Poke replied. "You sit there, silent as a Sphinx for more than a fuckin' hour and when you finally do speak, it's to rain down negativity on our heads."

"Yeah, Brad," Ray added his two-cents. "Have another beer and maybe you'll loosen up enough we can yank that stick outta your ass."

"Better a stick up my ass than some bitch's hand controlling my every word and action," Brad snapped, his gut twisting with the memories of striving to please a woman and failing spectacularly.

"Fuck you, Colbert," Jacks growled. "Just cause your tiny dick can't keep a woman."

"Dick, tiny or otherwise," Brad started, "is not what keeps a woman. Women use the pussy to trap troglodyte motherfuckers like you into giving them your money. Then, when they've got you, they force you to do just what they want by withholding the pussy." He started to raise his beer to his lips once more then paused. "You dumb-asses let them sink their hooks in even deeper by fathering children on these mercenary Magdalenes."

"Dude," Poke queried, confusion furrowing his brow. "Did you just call our wives whores?"

"No!" Ray interjected hurriedly, pissing Brad off even further. "Brad didn't call your wives anything. He called you a bunch of pussies."

"Now why you gotta go and get mean, Brad?" Espera asked. "We're all friends here, sitting around having a cold beer after a long week of training exercises."

"Stupidity is hard enough to stomach on its own." Brad drained his beer and looked around for that damn waitress. "When the stupid blame their misfortune on others it becomes unbearable." He'd had enough. Brad pushed his chair back and stormed off toward the head. Women didn't care about men's feelings, needs, or thoughts. They wanted what they wanted and expected men to fucking read their minds.

Brad stood at the urinal, staring at the white tile and willing his mind to go blank. A smiling face kept floating into the view of his mind's eye, keeping his guts heavy and twisted.

"Dude," Person said as he burst through the door of the head. "Could you be more of an asshole? When did you turn into a mean drunk?"

"Shut the fuck up, Ray," Brad growled, tucking himself back in and zipping up.

"You've been into battle with some of these guys," Ray persisted, much to Brad's extreme annoyance. "You've been to their houses and met their wives and girlfriends and now you call them bitches and 'ho's?"

"I didn't force any of them into sexless, manipulative relationships, but I gotta sit and listen to them whine like little girls." Brad stood at the sink to wash his hands. "If their lives are so fucked, they have no one to blame but themselves."

"Yeah, Brad," Ray scoffed, hand on the door as he readied to leave the restroom. "Cause all your one-night fucks and whorehouse frequent-flyer miles make you an expert on long-term relationships."

Ray yanked open the door and turned to leave just as Brad heard the words falling from his own lips. He knew they were his but it seemed they were spoken in someone else's voice. It was almost as if he was watching this happening to some other poor bastard.

"I had a fiancée."

His forward momentum arrested, Ray fell back into the head and let the door fall closed again. The sound of the bar crowd was once again muffled and Brad felt strangely peaceful.

"Had?" Ray asked, turning to meet Brad's eyes in the mirror. "When was this? What happened?"

"It was fine when I got orders to Pendleton and not Lejeune, but then there was Basic Recon, jump school, dive school, SERE," Brad stated, impressed at how steady his voice was. "Didn't matter that I had things I wanted to achieve. I wasn't around enough to suit her."

"Fuck," Ray breathed.

Brad broke eye contact, refusing to be pitied. As embarrassed as he was by his own vulnerability, his confession had left him strangely relieved.

"Well shit, Bro," Ray declared, once again opening the door to let the noise of the rowdy wash over them. "These guys are your friends and they're with women who have stuck it out when your bitch of a fiancée cut and run."

Brad nodded his agreement. He'd been way out of line, letting the alcohol turn him maudlin.

"Now get your head out of your ass, get yourself another beer, and stop being such a pissy baby." Brad found himself following Ray out of the bathroom without question.

***

"I don't think it's here, Brad," Ray said from across the small garage. "Are you sure you didn't toss it out?"  
"I'm sure, just keep looking," Brad replied, rummaging through the storage container before him. "It's here somewhere."

"Brad!" Ray cried excitedly. "What are you doing in a monkey suit?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Brad turned to see what Ray could have possibly found in the container he was searching. His heart stopped and his gut clenched when he saw the framed picture in Ray's hand.

Brad crossed the garage and took the picture.

"Hey, hey, hey," Ray protested, jumping to try to get the frame back from where Brad held it easily out of his reach. "Seriously, how the fuck did they talk you into the tux?"

"She wanted me to blend with the rest of the groomsmen and the dress blues would have been…awkward," was all Brad intended to say. He couldn't help but stand and stare at the wedding photo in his hand. It was of an entire wedding party and all he could see was how forced his smile looked as he stood beside the groom.

"No real friend of yours would make you wear a tux." Ray was trying to pull Brad's arm down so that the picture would be in reach. "I'd let you wear your shorts and sandals. That's how good a friend I am." Ray gave up on scaling Brad to retrieve the picture and turned back to his search of the container.

"My best friend since junior high," Brad said quietly as he set the frame on a high shelf, out of Ray's reach. Again he was surprised at the details he was willing to share with Ray Person.

"Do you like the woman he married?" Ray asked and Brad could tell it was an innocent, conversational question, for all that it felt like a gut punch.

"She's my ex-fiancée, so yes; you could say that I do, indeed, like her." Brad schooled his features, struggling to give nothing away of the turmoil he was feeling.

"No shit?" Ray exclaimed. "Your ex-fiancée dumped you for your own best friend and then he turns around and asks you to be…" Ray paused.

"His best man," Brad finished. It all sounded so fucked up when it was spoken out loud.

"That's fucked up, Dude." Ray echoed Brad's thoughts. "How long were the two of you together?"

"We met in junior high." Brad turned to rummage through the storage box he'd been searching previously.

"That is just so fucked up," Ray repeated.

Brad forestalled further comment by holding up the object of their search. "Found it. Let's go."

Brad was relieved when Ray dropped the subject and followed him back into the condo.

***

Brad took a long pull of his beer and glanced around Freedom Acres. It was a relatively well-known swinger's club in San Bernardino and one of the few that allowed single men. No one knew he came here. It made perfect sense, though. Brad just wanted to get laid and he didn't want to put a lot of effort into it. Paying for it didn't provide the same connection pure physical attraction did, but he certainly didn't want any strings attached afterward. Everyone here had come to fuck then go home so there were no games and no strings.

He noticed a very tall woman watching him with an open hunger. She wore panties, some sort of a bustier with a very long train and the kind of clear-heeled platform shoes strippers wore. She pushed away from the wall and stalked toward Brad. When she drew close, he realized she was just scant inches shorter than he was. "Hey," she greeted him in a husky tone.

"Hey," Brad returned.

"You here alone?" she queried.

"Yep. You?"

"My husband is here." She gestured vaguely behind herself to a dark-haired man of average height who stood watching them with interest.

"Uh huh," Brad said, non-commitally.

"He has no interest in you, but he likes to watch me fuck," she said simply.

Brad just shrugged in answer. He'd been touched and sucked by husbands and boyfriends who leaned that way and it was always pleasurable. He just didn't feel an attraction to this particular husband.

"He'll sit quietly and watch," she said simply. "Wanna go somewhere?"

"Sure." Brad set down his near-empty beer bottle and let himself be tugged by the hand into a dark back room.

They found a small, unoccupied room that contained nothing more than a low mattress covered in a clean fitted sheet. Beside the small bed was a basket of condoms and lube. The woman turned and wrapped her arms around Brad's waist, easily meeting his lips with her own in a kiss of introduction and exploration.

"I'm Samantha," she whispered against his mouth. "Call me Sam."

"Brad," he replied, lapping at her tongue and nipping at her full lower lip.

Sam's husband quietly settled in the corner of the room on a small pile of pillows. Everything indicated he was there to watch his wife have a good time and Brad dismissed his presence in the room.

He had a mission.

Brad groaned when Sam slid her hot mouth to his neck and bit lightly at his pulse. She soothed the nipped flesh with her tongue and Brad slid his hands up her back, then down to grip her firm ass. He pulled her into his own body to let her feel just how interested he was in her.

Samantha reached for the buttons of Brad's shirt. She opened it, pulled it from his jeans, and tossed it aside. He sped the process by kicking off his sandals and looked down to watch Sam opening the buttons of his fly.

Brad took a moment to appreciate the state of dress, or rather undress, of most everyone here. He only had to open a few hooks in the bodice of Sam's bustier and it bared her breasts for him. He slid it from her shoulders and she stood before him in nothing but her panties and those fantastically overstated shoes.

Sam reached into Brad's briefs and firmly stroked his hard cock. She had confident and experienced grip and wasn't shy about touching him. He appreciated her technique. He closed his eyes a moment and wondered what it would be like to have a woman like this for more than just a night.

Shaking off such thoughts, Brad eased Sam backward onto the low bed and hovered just above her. She wrapped her long legs around his hips and tugged him in close, her impressive heels digging into his ass.

Brad looked down at the delicate way her large, firm breasts moved and was happy they were the real deal. He pressed his face between their fullness and inhaled deeply. She smelled of heat and arousal and perfume and something uniquely woman.

Sam ran her hands over his short hair and he heard a deep chuckle echo in her chest. "High and tight is nice but it doesn't give me anything to hold on to."

"I've got plenty of other things for you to hold on to," Brad retorted, smiling against the deep 'v' of her cleavage.  
"That you do, Marine, that you do," Samantha sighed as her legs moved restlessly against his hips.

"Am I that obvious?" Brad wondered at her pegging him so easily as a Marine.

"Dangerous and sexy," she hissed as he flicked his tongue along one of her pink nipples. "And yet so attentive."  
Something hot and heavy unfurled in Brad's gut as he heard her words. Sam was attracted to and accepted both sides of his soul and that appealed to his warrior spirit. He wanted to be both a killer and a lover. To show Sam his pleasure at her words, he wrapped his lips around the peak of her breast and sucked gently, tugging at it and drawing a moan from her lips. Some part of Brad that he refused to listen to yearned to find someone so accepting of him that he wouldn't have to walk away from when the night ended.

"Teeth," Sam breathed and Brad nipped at her flesh. She rewarded him with a low groan.

He wrapped his hands around each of her breasts and took a moment to be impressed with how well she filled his large hands. Brad licked at the tip of each breast with the flat of his tongue. Sam arched into him, pressing him closer to her with both hands and the back of his head. He dragged his teeth over each nipple, and then began to kiss his way down her body.

Brad could smell Sam's arousal before he actually reached the apex of her thighs. He breathed in the scent of her through her lacy panties and exhaled against her. It was heady, being this close to her, having unfettered access to her warm heat. Sam moaned and pressed against him, encouraging him further. Brad hooked his fingers in the waist of her garment and tugged.

Samantha let her legs fall open for him and he took full advantage. Brad spread her folds with his thumbs and took a long taste. She was sweet and musky, her wetness copious and slick. He licked at her with the firm tip of his tongue before he swiped at her with the full flatness of it. Brad slid a finger into the heat of her and wrapped his lips around her firm bud and applied light suction.

He listened as her arousal grew with each flex of her hips and clasp of her hands. Brad slid a second finger into her and pressed upward. Sam came apart around his fingers and onto his tongue. She was delightfully loud, her entire body rocking with her orgasm. There was no question that Brad had brought her pleasure.

He knelt up and reached for a condom from the small basket. He rolled it on his erection with a little help from Sam. He wondered how he should take her; how she wanted him to take her. Brad considered asking her to turn over, but Sam made her desires known. She wrapped herself around him, pulling him in with hands and heels once again, and Brad sank deep into her.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride. Sam was hot and slick, even through the condom. Brad buried his face in her neck and pistoned his hips into her welcoming body. Sam encouraged him. She pushed and rocked into and against him until he leveraged himself up and slammed into her.

Brad looked down into Sam's pretty face, suffused with passion and pleasure. As the world fell away, he had a moment to be glad she'd wanted to go face-to-face. Her cunt enveloped his cock and her body wrapped itself around his and he felt the pressure and the tingle begin in his spine and ease its way through his hips.

Samantha's nails in his back and her heels in his ass, along with the guttural sounds of pleasure she made, sent Brad spiraling over the edge. He heard himself grunting, almost like a wild animal, as he rutted against her a few more times. He'd thrown his head back, and his back had arched as his muscles had contracted in the pureness of his pleasure. All the while, Sam encouraged and soothed him with words and hands.

He collapsed on top of her bonelessly. He panted heavily against Sam's moist neck, reveling in the scent of her. She held him to her, giving no indication she was in a hurry for him to shift. Brad closed his eyes and focused on the feel of her smooth hands running soothingly up and down his sweaty back.

Dragging himself back into the here and now, Brad eased himself out of Sam's body and dealt with the condom. He couldn't help himself, leaning down to give Sam one more kiss of thanks and goodbye. "See you around sometime, maybe?" she asked languidly.

"Anything is possible," Brad replied.

As he dressed to go, Sam's husband came to his knees beside the bed and began to stroke her hair gently. She turned on her side and they began to murmur soft, affectionate words to one another.

Brad could show that kind of acceptance and commitment to someone. He had it within himself to be that kind of a man for someone who wanted it from him. He left with a yearning aching in his chest, envious of their bond and just a little more alone than when he'd arrived.

***

Brad released the throttle on the jet ski, letting the engine drop down to an idle. His momentum let him glide right up to the lakeshore and gently beach the ski. He cut the engine completely just before coming to a complete stop. Ray glided up right next to him.

Looking around at the crowd that had grown since Brad and Ray had taken off on their ride, he shrugged out of his life vest. Espera's wife turned from the open cooler, a beer in each hand and gestured toward Brad and Ray. He smiled at her and tilted his chin in acknowledgement and silent thanks.

He swung his leg over the watercraft and reached behind for the zipper pull of his shorty wetsuit. A few short tugs later and he had it stripped down to his waist, just in time to take the offered bottle of beer from Poke's wife. Ray took the other bottle from her with a hasty 'thanks' before darting off to loudly harass a newcomer.

"Are you having fun, Brad?" she asked with a wide smile.

"The sun is out, I'm jet-skiing on a lake, I have cold beer and the company of fellow Recon Marines," he replied as he gestured around them. "Of course I'm having fun."

"Good," she said. "You need some relaxing down time. I swear, you're like Tony, sometimes. You both think way too much and way too hard."

"You're the one who encourages Poke to use his head for something other than a battering ram." Brad returned her easy smile. "So you're to blame for that one."

"Go sit in the sun and try not to think about anything more strenuous than what you want on your hamburger." She stood on her tiptoes and Brad obligingly lowered his head to accept the chaste kiss she placed on his lips.

He turned toward where he'd staked out his camp chair and saw Espera walking toward him, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Hands off my woman," Poke said as he stopped in front of Brad.

"If you were looking closely enough, you'd have seen your woman kissed me, Poke," Brad said lightly, the corner of his mouth turning up in jest. "I can't be held responsible if you're unable to meet your own wife's womanly needs."  
Brad felt ice water course through his veins as an unpleasant memory suddenly spiked his brain. His own words that night in the bar came back to him, and how he'd spoken so derogatorily of Tony's wife.

"She's just humoring you, since you're an impotent, needle-dick, flat-assed, white-man motherfucker." The insult rolled easily off of Espera's tongue, but his smile never faltered.

"Listen, Poke," Brad began hesitantly, still regretting his words of that night as much as he had when he'd awakened the next morning. "I wanted to apologize for the things I said that night in the bar…"

Tony didn't give him a chance to finish. "Hey, dog," he said, hand lifted, palm out, to halt Brad's speech. "It's all good. Something wasn't right with you that night and I knew back then you didn't mean any of it."

"No," Brad murmured, surprised at how easy he was being let off the hook.

"Something was eating at you," Espera continued. "And I think it still is. Don't hold that poison in. We're your boys - we got your back. Talk to us." He gestured around them. "Me, Wynn, even Fruity Rudy, would have some words of wisdom to ease your troubled soul."

"I'll keep it in mind," Brad said lightly as he laid a hand on Poke's shoulder, stepping by him casually.

He sank into his chair next to Ray. Brad downed a third of his beer easily.

"That was cool, dude," Ray said quietly, and Brad thought he might have heard him wrong.

"What?"

"Apologizing to Espera," Ray clarified. "Most guys would just blow it off and pretend it didn't happen."

"I couldn't do that," Brad said, nearly emptying his beer this time.

"That is why you are Team Leader of the Year and why we will follow you to our deaths," Ray stated simply. "Even if you are a whiskey-tango faggot who talks all smart so no one will know just how stupid you can be sometimes."

"I need to say something to Jacks, too," Brad said quietly, searching the crowd for Manimal.

"Nooooooo," Ray protested. "Don't do that. First, he got so drunk he doesn't remember much about that night, and second, he didn't even understand he and his wife were being insulted, so just let that one go."

"I guess," Brad sighed.

Still looking around, Brad's eyes landed on Gunny Wynn's wife, Cara. Many times since the night his mouth had run away with him, he'd been grateful Mike hadn't been there. He liked to think he was smart enough not to have gone down that road about Wynn's wife, but he couldn't be sure. The alcohol had had way too much control.

Mike had found himself a true shield partner to compliment his warrior spirit. Cara was an intelligent woman who could take care of herself, but she supported her husband going into combat. And Mike was a true combat veteran. Brad respected the hell out of him.

He watched Cara organizing activities for the kids and coordinating the wives' efforts at getting the food cooked, all with a gentle voice and wide smile. Brad knew she was heavily active in the Ombudsman's program and was ready anytime her husband headed back into combat. She would lend her strength to the other wives of enlisted personnel while they waited for their men to come back, with their shields or on them.

Brad couldn't help the small pang of jealousy he felt at Mike's good fortune. Wynn would never have to know what it was like to come home and find one of them, his brothers-in-arms, standing with his woman and expecting him to be happy at being betrayed and abandoned.

He'd like to find someone like Cara. He once thought he had. The odds were slim to none he'd ever find anyone again.

As if he had read Brad's thoughts, Ray suddenly said, "Wynn's a lucky bastard."

"That he is," Brad mused.

"Good women are out there, Brad," Ray said quietly. "You just have to fuck your way through a lot of really skank pussy to find one."

Brad snorted his amusement and agreement, but said nothing. It was best that way, given Ray's tendency to go off on tangents and tirades.

"Did you ever tell them how fucked up what they did to you was?" Ray asked.

"No," he said quickly. "It wasn't going to change anything." He never could explain to anyone how lonely he'd felt, knowing the one person he'd needed to turn to when he'd been dumped had been the person he'd been dumped for. Words beyond that seemed useless to Brad.

"How did they justify it to you? They both just missed you so much the only way they could find solace was his cock up her snatch?"

"Not in so many words." Remembering the conversation that had ripped out his heart and tilted his world on its ear, Brad had to be impressed with the accuracy of Ray's guess. He wasn't about to admit that, though.

"I bet." Ray took a long drink of his beer and his silence was oddly encouraging for Brad.

"They said that neither of them was really good enough for me so they were better off together instead of bringing me down." It was bullshit when they'd said it and it was bullshit now. The end result was the same, though. Brad was alone and they had each other.

"Oh, a variation of the 'it's not you, it's me' speech." Ray shook his head in obvious disapproval.

"Yeah." They silently agreed that the only speech that was worse was, 'can we just be friends?'.

"Fuck that. If she wasn't woman enough to handle a Marine, you're better off without her. Go see if Wynn's wife has any siblings. Don't let that shit stay with you, Brad. You're better than that. Just let it go."

Brad nodded to let Ray know he'd heard, but the words of the conversation from not so very long ago kept replaying in his head.

***

Brad had made it from Oceanside to Hillcrest in forty minutes. Ordinarily the drive took more than an hour but he used his bike's power, and the obvious lack of CHP on the freeway, to reach his destination much faster.

The shop he'd come here for was in a converted house, as were most small businesses in this community. Rainbow flags and decals were everywhere on people's homes and cars. This particular electronics shop was the only one in three counties he'd found that could get the component he was looking for.

"Morning," the twink behind the counter greeted. "Help you find something?"

"I called earlier about something specific…" Before Brad could finish, the kid was reaching down and pulling out the bit of silicone and wires that he so coveted.

"I set it aside since you said you were coming right in," he beamed up at Brad, obviously seeking his approval. It was a look Brad saw on the faces of young Marines so often he'd practically grown immune to it. His approval had to be earned; he didn't gift it easily.

Brad picked up the component and examined it closely. It was perfect.

He and the twink both looked up as another customer entered the shop. Brad took in the newcomer and assessed him with a single glance. Purely civilian and nothing threatening in his expression or carriage had Brad dismissing him almost immediately. Eliminating him as a threat didn't mean Brad couldn't appreciate his wide eyes and shapely mouth, though.

Twink and Customer entered into a protracted conversation that Brad tuned out. When it became evident the little shop didn't have what Customer was shopping for, Twink turned back to Brad to conclude their transaction. He handed over his credit card and slipped the component into the tiny bag Twink handed him.

Brad slipped his card and the receipt into his wallet as Twink slipped away into a back room somewhere. He was aware that Customer lingered at the counter, in spite of not having business to conduct. The hairs on the back of Brad's neck stood up and a thrill ran down the length of his spine.

"Miramar or Pendleton?" Customer asked.

Brad suppressed his surprise at the question. "Pendleton." People usually assumed he was Navy so the question narrowing his duty station to San Diego's two main Marine bases was very unusual.

"You're a long way from home," Customer observed, standing up straight and still ending up several inches shorter than Brad. He watched Brad with a combination of interest and insecurity.

"Only place in Southern California that had what I was looking for," Brad said, allowing himself a smirk. He knew what was happening. It was fucking Hillcrest, for fuck's sake. He started for the door of the shop, fully aware Customer was on his heels.

"Heading back already?" he asked, feigning casualness.

"Yep," Brad replied simply, stowing his purchase and reaching for his helmet.

"Fuck me," Customer breathed. "I've never seen a bike like this."

"Not surprising," Brad said, making it clear he was going to leave. He knew he was playing hard to get but some  
perverse side of him wanted to make this guy work for it.

"You don't seem as uncomfortable in this neighborhood as most military do," Customer observed. He was working up the nerve so Brad gave him time to do so.

"I know I have a big dick and I also know several ways to kill a man." Brad stood at his full height and looked down at Customer. "I'm flattered when anyone takes the time to admire my…assets. Only pussies and cowards are uncomfortable when someone pretty wants to suck their dick for them."

Brad knew a moment of deep satisfaction when Customer's eyes flared wide at his words.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" Customer finally screwed up his courage enough to ask.

Brad pretended to give Customer an appraising look. He was a decent-looking guy. He had pale eyes, a full and shapely mouth and a body that certainly filled out his clothes.

"Why?" Brad finally asked. "You wanna suck my dick?"

"If that's what you'd like," Customer said breathlessly, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He looked like one of his biggest fantasies was on the verge of becoming reality.

Customer jerked his head in the general direction of the rear of the shop. Intrigued and, not surprisingly, growing hard, Brad set his helmet down and followed. When Customer turned into the alley behind the shop, Brad went on full alert. He increased his situational awareness in the event he'd read the guy wrong and was about to be jumped for money or sex.

In the end, he didn't have to worry about it. Customer stopped at the foot of a set of stairs that lead to the back porch of the shop, back when it had still been someone's home. He gestured toward the steps with an open hand.

"Get comfortable." His voice was light but his eyes showed his arousal.

Brad took a seat on a concrete step and rested his weight on his elbows on one of the upper stairs. He leveled his gaze on Customer, challenging him.

Customer shamelessly dropped to his knees on the step between Brad's open thighs.

His cock was pressing against the fly of his jeans.

Customer was gentle but sure as he unfastened Brad's jeans and reached in to pull his already-hard cock out into the sun and the breeze. Brad hissed at the feel of a hot mouth around the head. Even as he shut his eyes, Brad extended his other senses just to be safe. Then he let himself relax down into what the man between his legs was doing.

Brad buried his fingers in Customer's hair at the back of his head. This dangerous, semi-public encounter was arousing. He didn't think his cock had ever been quite this hard so fast from just a blowjob. Brad could hear the faint sounds of people going about their business nearby, oblivious to what was taking place in this alley. Discovery could be imminent and instead of softening his cock, it sent a surge of heated blood through it.

He thrust up hard into Customer's mouth, pressing down with the hand in his hair. The hot mouth and slick tongue worked magic. Brad felt his chest heave and heard his own harsh breath coming in pants. He got very close very fast.

"Fuck," he hissed in warning as his hips snapped upward one last time. Brad's eyes snapped open at the very last moment so he had a clear picture of who was getting him off. Wide, clear eyes watched him closely from above red lips stretched taut around his cock.

Customer heeded the warning and pulled off, stroking Brad through his orgasm, catching the white ropes of his come on his own face.

All in all, it was pretty fucking hot.

Brad watched as Customer stood and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his shorts. He cleaned himself up, smiling the entire time.

"Well," he said. "Was I pretty enough for you?"

Brad tucked himself away again and gave a small smile. "Yeah, very pretty."

Standing and coming down the stairs, he took note of Customer's hard cock, pressing against his shorts. "Do you need help with that?" he asked, strangely unsure of just how he'd go about it, out here in a public alley, if the answer turned out to be yes.

"No, but thanks for the offer," Customer said, pocketing the soiled handkerchief. "You've already given me more than I ever thought I'd be able to get."

Brad headed for the end of the alley, intent on getting back to his bike. "The pleasure was mine."

"Safe trip back to Oceanside," Customer called after him.

Brad's only answer was a negligent wave.

***

"Colbert! You cocksucking motherfucker!" Ray shouted, tossing the video game controller away from himself.

"What?" Brad asked, feigning confusion. "What'd I do?"

"You are the master of HALO." Ray picked up his beer bottle and began to gesture wildly with it. "So we switch to Grand Theft Auto and you kick my ass at that."

"What can I say," Brad smiled, picking up his own beer. "I'm just that good."

"Next time, we're going out and we're getting pussy," Ray declared as he slid down further on the couch until his head was propped against Brad's hip. "I'm the master of pussy." Ray blinked up at him, bleary-eyed from drinking.

"I don't know about master of pussy but master pussy, definitely," Brad taunted him.

"Like you'd know," Ray scoffed and Brad looked down at him, attempting to veil his surprise. "You've let the ignorant actions of one silly Suzie Rottencrotch turn you off of anything but cheap whores and drunken fumbling." He hadn't thought Ray had had that much to drink but maybe he was wrong.

"You don't know anything about it," Brad began, frustrated to be talking about this yet again, let alone with Ray Person.

"I know you're so fucking good at anything you do," Ray said, struggling drunkenly to sit up and face Brad. "That you're surprised when something doesn't go just the way you expect it to."

Brad leaned away from Ray when he scooted closer on the couch, his alcohol-heavy breath strangely pleasant.  
"That critical, arrogant, superior brain of yours thinks you did something to let the two of them down so they turned to each other."

Brad made no comment, which Ray seemed to take as encouragement. "But the reality is they weren't good enough for you, they knew it and they had to settle for one another."

Ray was silent for a time and Brad began to think his tirade was over.

"They did you a motherfucking favor, Brad," Ray added, seemly as an afterthought. "Now you're free to go out and find some chick or some dude that is worthy of your sensitive, intellectual, Hebrew ass."

Brad blinked in surprise when Ray's forehead landed on his shoulder. He was unsure how much of this was Ray and how much was the beer.

"Now, if I went and got myself a relationship," Brad spoke slowly. "I'd have less time to spend with you, getting drunk, whoring and playing video games."

"You know," Ray said, twisting slightly so he could look up at Brad. "You and me, we kinda have a relationship already."

"We do?" Where the fuck was this going?

"Yeah, I mean, think about it; we hang out together, we go get food together, we like all the same things, we have sex together." Here Ray paused to consider his words. "Sure, we're with different people and in different rooms, but we're having sex at the same time."

"You've actually given this some thought," Brad observed. He didn't know whether to find humor in this or put his fist through Ray's face.

"Fuck yeah, I have." Ray sat up but his face stayed dangerously close to Brad's. "We even fight like an old married couple."

"You better be the bitch in this marriage, Ray," Brad growled. "Or you're not going to like how this conversation ends."

"If having your back, homes," Ray's lips nearly touched Brad's ear as he whispered, "means I'm your bitch, then I'm your bitch."

Ray's words hit Brad in the gut. His own reaction surprised him as much as Ray's whispered confession had. He leaned in slightly, his cheek brushing against Ray's equally rough one. There had been no shortage of fucking in his life but affection and unconditional acceptance, outside of family members, had been rare since he'd been dumped. He closed his eyes and waited to see how far Ray intended to take this.

Brad's breath caught in his throat when he felt Ray's hand press into his cock through his shorts. He felt Ray breathing heavily against his neck.

"You don't need them," he heard Ray whisper. "I'll take care of you."

Ray shifted again and Brad felt himself giving in. His leg was suddenly straddled and Ray's burgeoning erection was growing more prominent against him. Brad's own cock was almost fully hard as Ray continued to press and rub through the fabric of his shorts.

Brad tried to calm his heart and his breathing but the alcohol had him in its grips as much as it did Ray. He knew this was wrong on many levels. He out-ranked Ray. Any day now they could be shipped out for a mission where he would have to order Ray into harm or worse - death. If Brad let this progress would he still be able to do his job or would he begin to hesitate?

Ray's teeth scraping along his jaw sealed both of their fates. Brad's hands shot up of their own volition. He grasped Ray's shoulders and shoved him back and down onto the sofa. Ray went willingly, his thighs opening easily to accommodate Brad's hips.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Brad asked breathlessly as he ground down against Ray.

"Male bonding, you fucktard," Ray gasped in reply.

Brad could feel Ray's erection pressing through the layers of their clothing and rubbing against his own. He circled is hips, giving them both the pressure and friction they needed.

Suddenly, Ray's hands were between their bodies. He tore open their flies and pulled them both out into the open air. At the feel of bare flesh against his swollen cock, Brad released a harsh groan and pressed his forehead to the moist heat of Ray's throat.

"'s good, ain't it?" Ray breathed as he wrapped a hand around both of their erections and gave an experimental stroke.

"Fuck," Brad whispered, his lips against Ray's skin. His hips snapped reflexively at the sensations that shot up his dick and to the base of his spine.

They found a rhythm quickly. Both of them fucked into Ray's fist while that same fist squeezed and slid and twisted just so. Brad was shocked to find Ray's masculine, musky scent, the salt of his skin, and the hint of his aftershave were all arousing to him. This was Ray-fucking-Person. It was all so insane.

Realization washed over Brad like a wave he hadn't seen breaking. Ray's calloused hand working them both to orgasm was getting him there as quickly as anyone ever had. It was Ray. This was Ray. He knew Brad. He understood him and accepted him without judging or questioning. Ray always had Brad's back, regardless. He worked to anticipate Brad's wants and needs in all things. Of course he'd jack them both off on a Saturday afternoon over PS2 and beer if he sensed that Brad needed to be touched and accepted.

He came hard into Ray's hands, knowing he was coating both their cocks with each shuddering pulse. Brad was just barely aware of Ray chanting encouragement and affection as he rode out each wave of his climax. Whatever embarrassment he started to feel faded with the sound of Ray's voice.

Brad knew the moment Ray started to come by the string of obscenities he unleashed at the same time the rhythm of his hips faltered. He felt the wet heat of Ray's come coat them both, much as his own had done.

He sat up slowly, fearing the mess he knew he was going to see. Sure enough, white come covered them both, saturating their clothing as well.

"Jesus, fuck, Brad," Ray exclaimed, climbing off the couch and getting to his feet. He headed for the bathroom. "When you do something, you do it all the way, including come."

Brad couldn't help but smile to himself as Ray's diatribe continued from the other room as he cleaned himself up, "I don't think you have enough towels to clean this mess up. Christ, a little jizz is one thing. You're fucking Niagara Falls, Colbert…"

Brad tucked himself away with shaking hands. He'd just come all over a Corporal under his command. He'd just gotten a hand job from Ray Person. He wondered just when the world had tilted on its axis.

"Ray," he barked, waiting for him to appear in the bathroom doorway. "What the fuck just happened here?"

"Shit, Colbert," Ray answered, smiling. "Didn't your mommy let you take sex ed in school?"

"I'm serious, Ray." He needed to wrap his head around this. Now.

"Don't go all weepy, clingy, teenage girl on me." Ray's shoulders slumped as he spoke. "You needed to get off with someone who wasn't an anonymous fuck, so I let you." He disappeared back into the bathroom.

Brad waited for Ray to emerge once more before he spoke again. "Things on base can't change between us…"

"Jesus, Colbert," Ray said with exasperation as he flopped back down on the couch. "Get over yourself. This was a little 'Ray and Brad' time. Sgt. Colbert and Cpl. Person weren't even in the room."

Brad struggled to come to terms with just what Ray was saying. Could it really be that easy? In the meantime, Ray picked the game controller up once again, along with his beer bottle.

"Now quit being such a big pussy and let me kick your ass at this game, for once."

Brad's head was still spinning so fast, Ray very nearly did beat him this time.

***

"That is such bullshit," Ray said with derision. "Now they really are just fucking with you."

"It's just a Sunday bar-b-q," Brad protested, wondering why he was even defending himself to Ray.

"Those fuckers cheated on you while you were doing your duty for your country," Ray glanced around the table to see if any of the guys were paying attention to their conversation. "Then they expect you to be all suzie-sunshine and come to their fucking garden party while they rub your nose in the fact that they're together without you."

"It's not a big deal…" Brad didn't get to finish his sentence because Ray was off and running again.

"It is a big deal. They fucked you, but you keep letting them off the fucking hook by going to their whiskey-tango little house by the beach and looking at all their pretty pictures, that don't have you in them, and acting like what they did didn't fuck you up."

Across the table, Espera was showing curiosity at what had Brad and Ray's attention so focused on each other. Brad made sure to keep his voice down. "Nothing I say is going to change the way things are…"

"Brad, you're a fucking predator who won't hunt," Ray said with exasperation. "You pay for pussy; you shoot down any remotely hot chick that looks your way, and pretend you aren't aware when guys are checking you out. They fucked you up and you should rain on their little parade and stop letting them get away with feeling good about what they did."

"We've been friends for too long…" This time Brad was interrupted by Gunny Wynn who had finally made it to the bar and was pulling up a chair at their table.

"I just got word about our new company commander," he said to the table at large as he sat down. "First Lieutenant Nathaniel Fick."

"Fick, Fick…" Rudy mused, his eyes unfocused for a moment. "I think I knew him at Rhino in Afghanistan."

"I think I met him once or twice in Afghanistan, too," Poke concurred.

"A Lieutenant and not a Captain?" Brad didn't like the sound of this.

"This LT is supposedly some kind of wunderkind. Wittmer brought him over. He's an Ivy League brain trust or some such. Graduated Dartmouth," Mike said.

"Oh fuck," Brad sighed, immediately overcome by visions of having to handhold a sniveling liberal cocksucker of a commanding officer.

Wynn held both hands up in a gesture asking for silence as grumbling began around the entire table. "Hold up, gents," he said, "The 'Gunnery Sergeant Network' says that Fick is the real deal."

"He held his own in Afghanistan," Rudy agreed. "He's competent and not afraid to get dirty with the grunts."

"He's a combat veteran, even at his tender age," Mike continued. "And the Sergeants that have worked with him all say he respects them and wants to work with them as a team."

"No shit?" Brad said in disbelief. "A smart and competent officer. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Don't shoot him down before he gets his feet under him, Brad," Mike said directly to him. "He might surprise you."

"Due respect, Gunny," Brad replied. "The chances of that are slim to none."

"Still, you know the men are going to follow your lead." Wynn was not deterred. "At least show some neutrality until  
Fick gives you a reason to submarine him."

"Roger that," Brad replied.

***

The Recon Marines from Camp Pendleton descended on Gator Gardens en masse. They were in SEAL territory, here on the base in Coronado. Brad had packed them up and dragged them all here, not to cause trouble, but definitely for a dick-measuring contest.

They all handed over their military IDs to the SP on door duty. He looked up, taking them all in, each in turn.  
"No trouble tonight, guys. Okay?"

Brad took his ID back. "We're not here for trouble. Just beer," he replied.

"You drove the entire length of the County of San Diego for beer." The SP's tone was not a question. "You're here to swing your dicks, is what you're here for."

Brad shrugged negligently, "I won't take mine out until someone else does."

The SP scoffed but waved them in.

Brad led the way to the noisiest part of the bar. In the back, under annoying lighting, a mediocre cover band wailed away. The rest of the guys arranged themselves on either side of him like the Praetorian Guard. They surveyed the crowd and allowed themselves to be surveyed in return. He stood there long enough to let any SEALS in the place know they were there.

The Recon Marines had arrived.

Brad turned on his heel and led the guys to a quieter inner bar. This smaller room was for those not looking to dance or hook up. It had couple of pool tables and a lone bartender. Brad chose a large table and slouched in a chair that gave him a view of the door. Ray flopped down to his right and Kocher to his left. Poke went to the bar for beer.

Squids floated in and out, getting the single drink while surreptitiously taking the measure of them as they sat talking, before leaving again without incident.

Women came and went more frequently. They would order their drink, lean provocatively against the bar waiting to be noticed, and then leave, disappointed. Brad took even less notice of the women than he did the Squids.

The SP from the door wandered in at one point and glanced around. "Everything okay, gents?" he asked.

Brad gestured toward his own crotch with both hands. "All squared away, sir. No one's come in swinging theirs so I haven't had to beat them down with mine."

The SP shook his head at Brad in humor and left them in peace.

When it was Brad's turn for the round of beer, he stood impatiently at the bar waiting for their order. He knew when the woman came to stand beside him because he had good situational awareness. He paid her no attention whatsoever.

He felt her heat when she 'accidentally' brushed against his arm with her breasts. He could smell her soap and her perfume. A glance out of the corner of his eyes told him she was moderately pretty.

She was a Navy groupie who had probably made the rounds of Coronado more than once and Brad wasn't interested. He gathered up their bottles and returned to the table without a backward glance.

He sat down in time to see the woman flounce from the room in a fit of pique.

"Fuck," Lovell laughed. "You really do have ice in your veins."

"What?" Brad asked, not following the line of reasoning.

"If she'd pressed that rack to the back of my arm I'd have dragged her out to the parking lot for a quickie." Lovell gestured with his thumb over his shoulder in the direction the woman had just left.

"Sloppy SEAL groupies are not my thing," Brad said simply.

"Brad got dumped, guys," came Ray's voice from beside him.

Brad's head snapped around and he had to hold himself in check before his fist met Ray's jaw. "Ray, shut the fuck up," he growled menacingly.

"You're with your brothers, man." Ray turned a look on Brad that said he was being a moron. "There is no shame in what they did to you, so time to get over it."

Brad sat staring daggers at Ray, feeling equal parts betrayed and chagrined.

"No fuckin' way, bro," said Rudy. "Who was stupid enough to dump you?"

Brad drew breath to tell them all to drop it and stay out of his personal life when Ray's mouth kicked into overdrive.  
"His junior high school sweetheart, who he was engaged to, and his best friend told him he was too good for them, so they decided they were going to punish themselves by being together."

"Ray, drop it," Brad growled, struggling to keep a flush of shame from his cheeks and his expression neutral.

"Can you fucking believe that shit?" Ray barreled on, heedless of Brad's growing rage. "Dumping our Iceman here for a pansy-ass civilian. And here he sits, trying not to talk about it like he's got a fuckin' thing in the world to be ashamed of."

"That explains a lot," Poke said in a hushed aside to Rudy.

"If she's that weak, Brad," Lovell said quietly, "you're better off without her."

"Hoo-rah," chorused around the table and everyone raised their bottles to tap necks together. Brad reluctantly joined in. He wasn't used to having something so personal up for community discussion, but the unquestioning acceptance and support was soothing in a way none of his anonymous fucks had ever been.

"Women want security," Kocher said softly. The quiet intensity of his voice had Brad paying close attention. "For some, security is a man who makes seven figures a year so they can drive a Benz or a Beemer. For others, it's a man who's home every night for dinner."

Nods of agreement went around the entire table. Kocher had more to say.

"For a chosen few, unlimited free medical, free base housing and bargain hunting at the Base Exchange is all they need. They have the inner strength to keep the house running and raise the children while their warrior goes into battle."

The warriors at the table all murmured their agreement.

"Her weakness, Brad, does not make you less of a man," Kocher said with finality, and Brad felt something in his chest loosen slightly.

"Amen, brother," Ray said cheerily, clinking his bottle with Kocher's.

"Fuck the bitch," Poke said loudly. "She didn't deserve you."

In the ensuing chaos of Recon Marines celebrating truth being spoken, Brad glanced over at Ray. He sat slouched sideway in his chair, watching Brad intently. Humor sparkled in his eyes and an arrogant smirk curved his mouth.  
In Ray's own backwoods, inbred way, he'd just managed to set Brad on the path to healing.

The trouble was, Ray knew it and there'd be no living with him now.

***

Brad listened to the sound of his own breath in his ears as he inhaled through his regulator. The bubbles from his exhale rushed up beside him. The sound of the oncoming wave grew louder above him and when he felt the forward push of the water, he extended his legs and got his feet beneath him. As the tide rolled out, Brad was left standing on the ocean floor looking at the Oceanside beach. Someone on the shore extended his arm and curled it over his own head to touch fingertips to scalp. It created the look of a half circle, the SCUBA signal to ask if a diver was okay. Brad mimicked the signal to indicate he was indeed okay.

He quickly reached down and slid off his fins and held them tightly. When the next wave broke around him he was able to start walking toward the dry sand. Each time the tide rolled back out to sea he struggled against it slightly. When he was only waist deep, Brad took his regulator from his mouth and slid his dive mask from his face. Fatigue from the dive made the air tank seem fractionally heavier than when he'd gone into the surf, but he ignored it. At least his ankle wasn't broken.

When Brad reached dry sand, he began to release the heaviest of his gear. Poke was there to take his weight belt. Ray slid the BCD and air tank from his shoulders. He tossed his mask and fins to the ground and reached around for the zipper pull on his wetsuit. As he tugged the zipper down, he squinted against the blazing California sun. Two men were approaching their position; one appeared to be Gunny Wynn. The other, Brad couldn't quite place in the dazzling sun.

He stripped his wetsuit off his shoulders and pulled his arms out, turning the sleeves inside out as he did. He pushed the neoprene down to his hips and stood to watch the men approach. Brad caught the glint of bars on the newcomer's collar and his breath caught in his throat.

The approaching officer was young but carried himself with confidence that bespoke competence and not arrogance. He didn't swagger. He had nothing to prove, except maybe to himself. Damn if he hadn't already scored points with Brad. The officer had smooth skin, direct and piercing green eyes and a mouth that belonged wrapped around a cock.

That last thought brought Brad up short. He'd never had thoughts like that about an officer. Ever since that afternoon with Ray, that had not ended up being awkward, he'd found himself wondering if it might ever work the other way for him. If ever he had wanted it to; if ever he had hoped it could, it was now.

Brad shook himself from his stupor. He needed to get himself in hand. He was already trying to figure out how he might do to his new LT what Ray had done to him and Mike hadn't even made the introduction yet.

"Sgt. Colbert, Sgt. Espera, Cpl. Person," Gunny Wynn said when they came to a stop on the sand. "Your new company commander, Lt. Nathaniel Fick."

"Nate," the new LT said, extending his hand to Brad to shake and meeting his eyes unwaveringly.

Christ, but Brad was so fucked.


End file.
